


Drabble Me This

by Elevensins



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-21 14:19:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1553420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elevensins/pseuds/Elevensins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A placeholder for a collection of thoughts about Captain America The Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Einar_Fox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Einar_Fox/gifts).



_There were only two of them to begin with._

_They gathered behind him gradually as he walked home. Steve couldn’t exactly see them, but he could hear them keeping pace with him behind. A shoe scuffing the sidewalk, the soft sound of a snicker quickly hushed._

_He caught the peripheral of a third, fourth and fifth boy from the corner of his eye. One of them leaned against a lamppost, grinning as Steve walked past. Then pushing away from it, and then was out of Steve’s sight. He knew better than to look behind him. He could already picture their faces, caricatures of childhood cruelty. He committed the image to memory, something to put down on paper in his sketch book later._

_If they didn’t break his fingers. Bobby threatened that, once. Bucky scolded him for drawing him with a head three times larger than his body and shaping it like a hock of ham. Said it was just antagonizing them. It was, Steve knew. But with a body as small and frail as his was, he had to have some way of lashing back at them._

_He slipped between two parked Packards on the curb, moving as fast as he could without running. If he tried to run they’d just chase him, and he’d be out of breath before he got to the other side of the street. Bad idea. Soon as he reached the other sidewalk, he noticed a sixth and seventh boy staring at him from where they leaned against the doorframe to the sweet shoppe._

_Seven of them, against one small, frail boy. Bucky called it cowardice, but Bucky wasn’t with him, either. He could hear his voice, urging him to find the nearest store and duck inside. Or stop an adult on the street to ask a question. Something to get them to stop following him._

_Instead, Steve turned down the first alley he came across. Bucky was bigger, tougher, could hold his own in a fight. So he didn’t understand things from Steve’s perspective._

_Doing any of that staved off the inevitable. If he ran, they chased, if he stalled them they’d wait for another opportunity. Better to take his lumps then and get it over with._

The memory ended as the elevator doors clicked shut. Steve shifted his gaze left and right, noticing the trickle of sweat running down one man’s temple. The way another clenched and unclenched his fist. There were more than seven of them this time. Not that he needed to keep track of numbers anymore.

"Before we get started. Does anyone want to get out?"


	2. Pop Tarts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Avenger's Tower, there's always a routine in the morning.

It was breakfast in Avenger’s Tower. Very few were awake so early in the morning. Thor, of course, because he always woke early to have coffee. And Steve Rogers, because Captain America was the most chipper person at o’dark thirty in the building. So it was the pair of blondes who often bonded over coffee and toast and eggs and… pop tarts.

Steve had at least managed to get him to eat something a bit more substantial. But Thor insisted he break his fast with at least one of the pastries. Out of politeness, Steve even tried one, once. And found it a bit too sweet yet strangely bland for his liking.

Eventually Natasha wandered in, with her red hair swept up in a chignon and a robe covering her lithe frame. She always walked around barefoot until she got dressed and had a cup of coffee from the pot Steve left waiting for her. She rarely said much and if one of them tried to talk to her she lifted a hand, one finger extended. Not until she had at least drank half her mug did she allow conversation. Which was usually a discussion on whatever events had transpired the day before. Sometimes it was a discussion on dreams, or plans for the day.

Natasha never stayed long, though. She had her coffee, some yogurt with fresh fruit and then she poured a to go cup for Clint and was off to rouse him. Thor was usually finished by then as well and helped Steve clean up their dishes before leaving. Steve poured out whatever coffee remained and started a fresh pot. Those who were late to rise usually began arriving just as he was leaving.

"Steve?"

He’d almost forgotten that Bucky was staying with them. A realization that sent a wash of guilt over him. Tony had sequestered him in the lab, having doctors and scientists going in and out to fix the arm that had been damaged so badly Bucky had lost the use of it. Steve visited when he could, when he was allowed.

He turned and blinked. Bucky wasn’t wearing the polymer armor he’d arrived in. Or the hospital gown he’d last seen him in after the surgeons had finished repairing nerve damage in his shoulder. He was dressed in black leather pants that hugged his lean, muscular legs a little too tightly, and a black t-shirt bearing the Stark Industries logo, the left sleeve had been cut off to make room for the metal arm. Tony had even given him proper boots, laced up to mid-calf.

It looked good on him. Someone had even taken the time to trim his hair enough to get rid of split ends, working out the tangles and mats that had been there for god knew how long. And given him a proper shave, his face smooth again.

"Bucky…" he trailed off, putting down the coffee pot and heading over to his old friend. It was such an urge to touch him, but he resisted, keeping his hands at his sides and willing himself not to close the distance between them.

There was a spark of recognition in the other man’s eyes, the corners of his lips momentarily twitched up. Then his eyes fell downcast. “The doctors said I was healed enough to get out of bed. Tony gave me this, said you’d be down here for breakfast.”

"Yeah, ah, wow, you look good," Steve said. It felt horribly dumb of him to say, but at that moment he felt his tongue was tied in knots. "Are you hungry? Thor and I already ate but I could fix something for you."

He was going to turn, but Bucky reached out with the metal hand. It was a fast movement, so fast Steve nearly yanked his arm away. He stopped himself in time and Bucky’s hand closed over his wrist, pulling him back around. “No, wait.”

He let go almost immediately, snatching the metal arm back and shoving the hand attached to it into the pocket of his pants. “Sorry. I move too fast sometimes.”

Steve smiled softly at him and reached out, resting his hand on the metal wrist, and slowly coaxing the hand back out again. “It’s ok, Bucky. Looks like they got it working properly again. You’re quick with it.”

He turned the metal hand over, glancing over the gleaming palm. No lifelines, no markings distinctive to human flesh. Just the plates that seamlessly moved to give motion to individual fingers. The arm whirred softly as Bucky’s fingers moved, a thumb stroking the joint between Steve’s thumb and forefinger.

"They did. And repaired most of the damage to my shoulder. Not as much pain now. Said with a few more surgeries I would be pain free again."

Steve let go, nodding. “Good to hear. I knew Tony could help you.”

"I remember now," Bucky blurted. "I remember you. Us. Bits and pieces, but… I know now why my programming broke."

Steve fell silent at the admission, even as Bucky looked at him expectantly. For something, anything, a reaction of some sort. He started to say something, thought better of it and stopped, then tried again.

Eventually he sighed, chuckling at himself as he turned his gaze toward the tile flooring. “I’m glad, Buck. I missed you.”

When he looked up, he saw the tear forming at the edge of Bucky’s eye. When he spoke, it finally spilled free and ran halfway down his cheek. “I had a greater mission than the one they gave me. It conflicted with their programming.”

"Bucky, it’s ok." Steve reached out again to rest his hand on Bucky’s human shoulder, squeezing gently. "I understand."

"No, you don’t," he said, voice very quiet. "When you said you were with me to the end of the line, it came to me. I wasn't supposed to kill you. I was supposed to protect you. I've always been wired to protect you."

"Oh Bucky," Steve said quietly and reached around the other man’s shoulders to embrace him.

Bucky was very still for a heartbeat, so stiff in Steve’s arms. And then all but melted against him, both arms, metal and human, sliding around his waist, squeezing him tightly as he trembled. Steve could feel the wetness of tears on his shoulder. When he drew a breath, it was audible and shaky.

Already Steve knew he’d have to quietly talk to Sam about this. Bucky was remembering, and with that would come a lot of guilt in the days, months, even years to come. For the time being, he just held onto his friend, until finally Bucky drew in one last shaky breath and relaxed his grip. His head lifted, eyes red, cheeks streaked with tears. Letting go, he swiped his human hand over a cheek. “Sorry.”

"Don’t be," Steve said. "Come on, sit down. I’ll bring you some coffee. You want a pop tart?"

Bucky’s brows furrowed. “What’s a pop tart?”

Steve chuckled, “I’ll let Thor tell you about them sometime…”


End file.
